


Sacred Works

by kittleimp



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Artists, Depression, Drawing, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Painting, Typical In The Flesh Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 09:18:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3604743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittleimp/pseuds/kittleimp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An artist's notebook is a sacred place. To violate that is a most serious offense; it is a true breach of trust. That sketchpad a safe haven. Not everyone would think so at first, but there is rarely an artist who would let every page be published for the world to see. While some speak to friends, an artist pours their soul onto a page.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sacred Works

**Author's Note:**

> What began as a way to distract myself from a socially overwhelming weekend became a wandering little fic. I hope that you enjoy it! This fic is unedited, so feel free to tell me about typos.

An artist's notebook is a sacred place. To violate that is a most serious offense; it is a true breach of trust. That sketchpad a safe haven. Not everyone would think so at first, but there is rarely an artist who would let every page be published for the world to see. While some speak to friends, an artist pours their soul onto a page.

Kieren is no exception. He has hidden his deepest thoughts there for years, through his punk phase and suicidal times. The pages tell the story of his lifes and death just as well as a journal. Instead of words, he uses half-finished doodles in graphite and charcoal.

His family knows. Even after his death, nobody dared to touch the pile of worn sketchbooks piled into a corner. They said it was out of respect. In truth, they feared that they would find everything he never told them. The pages would accuse them by showing off the path to their beloved Kieren’s death.

The earliest pages contain hearts looped around his name and Rick's. Kieren spent sleepless mornings sketching Rick's sleeping form draped in blankets and soft morning light. The window shade would soften the shadows and create an ethereal glow around his friend, his more-than-friend, his Rick. Even after two years of hidden touches and gentle lips, Kieren never tried to put a true label on them. Rick would have startled and run.

Almost all of the sketches are left unfinished. Pencil marks filled with love leave off mid-drawing, which tells just as much as the art itself. The sun would rise. Rick would blink the sleep away and stretch. After the pencil was set down and the notebook closed, Kieren would climb back onto the bed and relish the warmth of Rick’s arms.

After Rick left for the army, Kieren didn't have the heart to paint anymore. In fact, he didn’t have the heart for school or eating either. He spent all of his time sketching anything he could think of in place of wandering out to find new friends. More often than not, Rick found his way onto the pages. Smudged doodles of his face, hands, and body filled the pages instead of familiar portraits.

Things took a darker turn while Rick was away. Kieren doesn't like to look at the pages of carefully drawn nooses and empty-eyed portraits now. It brings back the memories of why he drew them in the first place. While he rarely wished for death in those months, he thought of it often.

After those pages is a single ominous page of scribbles. Kieren remembers the day he learned of Rick’s death vividly. A neighbor dropped by to chat and dropped the news so casually, blissfully unaware of the effect their words would have on Kieren. The scribbles hide his feeble attempt to draw the grief away and mark the moment that he reached for the pocket knife.

After he came home, Kieren found himself reluctant to pick up his old notebook. He hadn’t intended to return to that home in the first place. Being gone for four years didn’t give him any new subjects to draw. Kieren made a few feeble attempts to draw Rick and picked at the stitches holding his wrists closed. The black goop that oozed from the irritated spot is smeared across the abandoned images.

It wasn't until Amy found him that Kieren started to draw again properly. After that, the floodgates opened. He drew portraits like he used to, but he also found himself sketching her as she sat on the couch or talked to him about the future.

Once Rick returned to the small village, Kieren found himself sketching that familiar face. The scar lining the left side of his face was a new addition, but one that he was more than happy to make. Kieren was more than happy to take the gift he was given.

As always, life happened. Then death happened. Kieren half-heartedly drew flowers to distract himself from the thoughts of a noose. This time, however, he didn’t have to struggle for new ideas. He hadn’t ever been one for landscapes, but he drew the new graveyard so often that he knew it by heart. His fingers would itch for a pencil at work so often that he almost risked bringing a sketchbook along with him. If it weren’t for Gary Kendal and the HVF gang, he might have.

Then Kieren met Simon.

His pencil seemed to sketch the mysterious man's face on its own at first. The earliest sketches were nothing more than a mockery of the disciple’s face, but he learned the curves of Simon’s cheeks in time. Every kiss improved the likeness until he knew every stroke of the pencil by heart. For the first time in years, he pinned a drawing of a man on his wall.

When Amy died, Kieren tore a page from his notebook for the first time. It fluttered onto her coffin, followed by flowers, books, and dirt. That night he tore another page out and ripped it to bits. Nobody else ever saw the fresh, angry sketch of a noose. Kieren decided that his horror at the drawing was a good thing.

Simon never posed for Kieren. He would simply sit on the couch, long legs curled, and read books of poetry. Those sketches were healing for Kieren in a way that even Simon couldn’t properly understand. Each one was finished before either of them moved. Then, joints stiff and unfeeling, they would unfold and curl around each other. It was on one of those days that Simon made the suggestion for Kieren’s current project.

_“Draw a self portrait.”_

With a sigh, Kieren sets his paint brush down and taps his fingers against his leg. They stain the old, dark jeans with a layer of pale paint. The cool tones of his face are a far cry from the warm palettes he used when he painted himself just before sixth form. Instead of muted greens or deep reds surrounding his face, Kieren’s face is surrounded by a spiral of cool purples, fading from pale violet on the edges to a dark plum around his grey face.

This time, he doesn’t glance back to the mirror after setting his brush in the mug of murky water. Instead, he stands up and begins packing away his paints. The process has become something of a ritual since he first picked up a paintbrush. Paints are put away first, then brushes are cleaned in the bathroom sink. Each one has to be cared for properly if he expects them to last.

Once he’s finished putting the dried brushes back in their cup, he rinses his hands off. Tinted water streams from his hands and swirls down then. It is only when he dries his hands that he notices the paint smeared over his pants. Where a curse would have been years before, he now only sighs in annoyance.

“It’s called customization,” a low voice by the door tells him.

Kieren turns to see Simon smiling at him warmly. The former disciple motions to the room in front of him, but doesn’t enter until Kieren nods his consent. Simon greets him with a tentative kiss. Even after everything they’ve been through, he’s still timid to make a move. Kieren pulls Simon closer as if to prove he won’t push him away.

Unlike what he had with Rick, Kieren’s relationship with Simon is defined by a single word: _boyfriend_. At first, the feeling was so different that he couldn’t identify it. Where everything with Rick was warmth and need, Simon was soft comfort and curiosity. In the time since Amy’s death - the months that he has spent shaking out tremors and hiding occasional nosebleeds - Kieren has come to recognize the familiar sensation of love.

Simon steps away once their kiss has faded into small smiles. He casts a glance to the canvas that is still drying on its easel and steps closer. Kieren knows that his judgement holds very little artistic merit, given Simon’s preference for written art over painted works, but it matters more than any critic’s word could. After considering the painting for a moment, Simon steps away.

“Well?” Kieren prompts.

“You should submit this one to that PDS-related contest you were talking about,” Simon says, turning a warm smile on his boyfriend.

“Think it could really stand a chance?” Kieren asks.

Simon steps closer and takes Kieren’s hands, “I think they’ll take one look and never want to look away again. They’ll fall in love with you. They’ll never love you half as much as I do, of course.”

“You absolute sap,” Kieren says with a soft laugh.

Simon pulls Kieren away from the painting and onto the sheets. They take a moment to find a comfortable position on Kieren’s small childhood bed, but they have learned how to find a comfortable spot. The artist rests his head on Simon’s broader chest with a happy sigh.

As they curl against each other, letting the cool spring breeze brush over their shoulders without feeling anything, Kieren considers the contest. Winning a cash prize would help to fund his old dream of attending art school, which would be helpful since his previous savings for university were used for his funeral. A place in the gallery would be great exposure as well. At the same time, he remembers something he once read in a magazine.

_”An artist’s notebook is a sacred place.”_

He looks over the carefully laid strokes around his painted eyes while Simon slips into something that could almost be considered sleep. The lights in his room are not on, but sunlight is still filtering through the overcast skies of Roarton. It provides him a perfect view of the pinprick pupils that he painted from his mirror. For the first time, Kieren finds himself intrigued by them instead of repulsed. Perhaps Simon isn’t lying when he calls Kieren beautiful.

Before he drifts off to join his boyfriend in an afternoon nap, Kieren promises himself that he will submit his application on the next morning. The choice lifts a weight from his chest. Finally, he falls asleep with a smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, comments and kudos are much appreciated.
> 
> Please join me on my [In The Flesh blog](http://undeadbambiboy.tumblr.com) for headcanons, gifs, and plenty of love.


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